Chapter 8: Looking Back to Look Forward

Author's Note: Story depicted may be unpalatable to sensitive readers for its portrayal of Hermione and Ron's relationship. Hermione may also not be likeable to readers. Some readers might consider the characters a little OOC. Some organisations and Ministry of Magic departments are made-up.

It would help readers following the story to view it as a 'cinematic' experience whereby there are shifts in perspectives, as well as shifts between flashbacks, the past, the present, dreams and reality within the space of one chapter.

Footnotes follow chapter.

Emphasises are italicised and book titles are underlined.

From the Blood of the Gorgon

Chapter 8 – Looking Back to Look Forward

Despite her misgivings as to her sanity, Hermione chose not to voice her fears. By blindly throwing herself into her work, she managed to keep the demons at bay. While she was no closer to uncovering the truth behind Severus Snape's demise and alleged escape or the connection her subconscious told her existed between him and Perseuss, no closer to determining the reasons for her nightmares or the truth hidden between Dumbledore's correspondence to her late potions master, she was now visibly more relaxed. All it took for her to regain her level-headedness was return to the work she loved so well. In so doing, she found a temporary reprieve from the madness that had been hitherto nipping at her heels. For the moment, she no longer sought to question the nature of her nightmares nor did she seek to further unravel them. This was not to say she had given up on them. The truth was far from it. She wanted to temporarily put some distance between herself and all that had occurred so far between herself and her husband, her night terrors, and the mystery hanging about Perseuss von Bastiae and Severus Snape before dealing with them. If she kept obsessing over them, she would likely run mad, and if she did, she would have achieved nothing, and very likely, the nightmares would still be haunting her.

Armed with this unconventional example of positive thinking, Hermione survived four days of legal cases, her children's anxious letters enquiring as to the state of her marriage, and curious stares from her senior clerk. She believed that so long as she kept at doing what she knew best, the world would see that she was managing well, and cease making life such a plaguey nuisance for her. It seemed to have worked, for on the fifth day of inactivity in her private life, an excellent development occurred in her public life. As Charles Warrington had predicted, she was officially conferred the title of King's Counsel and was the toast of wizarding Britain's legal community. As is consistent with her manner of eschewing large-scale celebrations and the intrusion of foreign eyes into what she deemed was a personal achievement, she refused all interviews, choosing instead to hosting an intimate celebratory dinner the following day at her house in Chelsea for the barristers, senior clerk, and pupil of Chiswell Square Chambers.

With her recent elevation, she came to be of the opinion that things were finally looking up for her. Her previous fevered imaginations as to the 'truth' – if there was one – behind Perseuss' knowing so much about her, and Severus's death were settled in her mind as incidental matters beyond any human understanding. In so doing, she found that she no longer questioned her sanity. She even found herself able to manage a few polite words to husband, even if he persisted in behaving like a self-righteous fool ranting that he had not granted her the permission to outshine him in her career. Fortunately, she had managed to get a word in edgewise and extracted from him the dual promise that he would behave himself when her friends from Chambers were due to dine, and that he would not leave early to head to Lavender's flat in the presence of their guests.

True to his word, Ron was a veritable butler when Hermione's guests arrived. He nodded sheepishly at their incomprehensible legal banter and lawyer jokes, and even smiled when Hermione bade them go about the house as they chose. He followed her example by digging up photograph albums and old Hogwarts' Yearbooks for the guests' viewing pleasure before he deemed his duty done and begged to be excused. The reason he cited did not fool his wife in the slightest. She knew full well that Molly Wealsey was in the pink of health and not suffering from a fever. But as the dinner had gone off smoothly and he had not made any disparaging remarks as to her latest achievement as he had done earlier in the day, she let him head to Lavender's flat.

The other members of Chiswell Square Chambers were not the least bothered by his departure, and even though Anthony Goldstein and Daphne Greengrass exchanged speaking glances and raised their brows significantly at Ron's excuse, they were too polite to say aught. Hermione privately wondered when those two were getting married – their mannerisms were beginning to mirror each other's. However, she was soon brought back to unpleasant reality when Daphne made a blunt remark as to Ron's quick escape from their company. Hermione was about to reply when she was interrupted by Melvin Summerby's discovery of a games room where they could play Muggle pool, or as he called it – snocker. Excited by the prospect of playing a Muggle game where the 'balls would go click in pockets' as Summerby so eloquently put it, all of Chambers save Hermione and Perseuss galloped to the games room.

"Well," said Perseuss, breaking the silence that fell between them as the others disappeared to play with Ronald Weasley's precious balls. "May I look at these books? What are they?"

Sitting opposite him with perfect posture and with her hands neatly folded in her lap, she explained in her best imitation of a school mistress-like voice, "Hogwarts – the school where I studied, produced annual volumes informing the students' parents as to the developments of the academic year. If you flip through it, you will see the usual kinds of bulletins, interviews with top students and what have you."

"There are pictures," he stated plainly, opening the first book he grabbed.

"Obligatory photographs of the teaching staff and students." Hermione flicked a wrist dismissively.

"Who are these?" he asked, tilting the book in her direction. "There are no captions."

"Ah," Hermione said in a clipped voice and sat next to him on the sofa. "That's the teaching staff in the Great Hall. A very unusual picture with all of them in it, I must say." Then using a nearby pen, she jabbed at the respective professors and introduced them to her guest. "The late Albus Dumbledore, headmaster during my time there," she prodded at him and he comically twitched his nose and sneezed. "Minerva McGonagall, the deputy headmistress. She used to teach Transfiguration before she retired. That's Filius Flitwick, he teaches Charms – a very patient and understanding person." Then tapping the shoulder of a tall figure standing in the back who curled his lips contemptuously at her for daring to push him to the fore, she cleared her throat. "And this is..."

"Severus Tobias Snape," he answered, looking up at her, paling at the words that his just his lips.

She nodded, willing herself to behave as normally as she could. Ignoring the wild pounding of her heart in her ears, she pasted a polite societal smile on her face and continued to play the role of the hospitable hostess. "Yes, he was..."

"The Potions Master," interjected Perseuss quietly, releasing his grip on the book.

Hermione stared at him in the eye in stupefaction. "How did he know that? Severus Snape has been presumed dead these twenty-two years! How do you know who he is? How did you manage to identify him?"

"I do not know," cried Perseuss, as a nerve in the corner of his mouth twitched.

"Strange," thought Hermione, "I never noticed how long and tapering his fingers were, just like Professor Snape's." She turned to him, her eyes flashing somewhat in mild suspicion. "Then how were you able to identify him?" persisted Hermione, shaking his shoulders roughly. "Have you seen his picture before?"

"NO!" he exclaimed hotly, attempting to pry her fingers off.

"Then how did you know?" she demanded, continuing to shake him soundly with all her might until she accidentally tore the worn fabric of the sleeve at his elbow, exposing his left forearm.

"Because I just do!" he retorted, glaring a challenge at her while clamouring to cover a mark of some sort with his right hand.

"What is that?" asked Hermione, still unwilling to back down.

"A birth mark," he hissed, his right hand tightly clapped over his left forearm.

She only raised a brow to signify what she thought of his words. "Did you parents tell you that?"

"They said I have always had it, ever since they found me," he answered, suddenly tired. "Does it really matter what it is? I am what I am now. What I was in the past – in Germany – is inconsequential. All that matters now is that I am a pupil in your Chambers. That is the most important thing. My past, my history, my whatever it is you want to call it, should be inconsequential to you!"

She narrowed her eyes and peeled the fingers off from their defensive position over his forearm. That which she saw made her reel backwards into the cushions of the sofa. It was a long, fat scar that was of a painfully darker colour than the rest of his pale skin. It looked as if it had been burnt off, the scab peeled off, and then burnt again to encourage the growth of collagen around the wound. "How did you get this hypertrophic scar? Did you try to burn off a mark or a tattoo?"

"No!" protested Perseuss vehemently, inching his face forward to hers. "Why would I? There are easier and non-scaring magical methods of inflicting self-torture than this."

"I will ask you now – did you have the Dark Mark on your arm at some point?" she hissed, her eyes flashing daggers at him.

"No! No! No!" he snarled lowly in exasperation as Hermione shook him soundly. "I do not know anything about any dark mark. I already told you I do not know anything about this scar. What does my past in Germany have to do with you?"

"Because I think..." she said between clenched teeth, meeting his penetrating gaze with one of her own. "There is more to you than meets the eye."

"I do not care what you think! You already torment me in my dreams, do not torment me in life as well," he softly uttered under his breath, turning very white in the face. "Enough, I do not have to put up with this. Good night, Miss Granger. I will see myself out."

Watching him as he strode meaningfully out her door and shut it firmly behind him, Hermione hugged a cushion close to her chest and shook her head. What had she done? What had she said? For a moment – for a brief fraction of a second, she thought she saw Severus Snape in Perseuss von Bastiae. That was utter hogwash of course! How could they be one and the same? Or were they? Once again, he had stunned her with the things he knew about her whether it be her past, her floo network activation password, her tastes and her allergies. Once again, she had confronted him impulsively without any plan and came away the loser in the resultant altercation. Once again, they had been at an impasse. Once again, he had taken offence at her words, hinted that he could possibly share the same night terrors, and stomped out, leaving her stricken and upset. "What could possibly be happening to me?" she muttered, covering her face with her hands. "I'm going mad."

Whatever else she thought was wrong with her had to wait, for the rest of Chiswell Square Chambers were pounding down the stairs to the living room to rejoin her. "Nevermind, nevermind," she told herself repeatedly as they gathered around her and peered at the photograph album she had fortuitously left open. "Continue to act normally," she mentally reminded herself. "How was making the balls go click in the pockets?" she asked with an artificial smile on her face. "Would you like to look at some photo albums from my childhood? My maternal grandparents lived in the Lake District, and the scenery there is particularly lovely."

As her friends and colleagues clamoured to see the fabled Muggle photographs of the Lake District, Hermione steadied her breathing. So long as she could still slip the mask of normalcy on her face, she would be fine. So long her colleagues could discern no change in her behaviour towards them, she would be fine. Before them, she would be the poised and in control of herself.

It then dawned upon her that while she could still check the anxieties within her breast in the presence of her colleagues, she was positively wild before Perseuss. Every time they spoke on non-work related matters, she would be astounded by his knowledge of her. Every time he astounded her in that fashion, she would let fly at him, unable to control herself in his presence. Come to think on it, she had no right to behave so hysterically and so unreasonably before Perseuss. No wonder he had always stormed off after conversing with her. He was in all possibility frightened of her, or worse – he could be repulsed by her behaviour. Given her position in the wizarding legal community, Hermione did not want to be known as the most contemptible King's Counsel. She would have to learn how to school her behaviour towards Perseuss. She would have to learn to be composed whenever she spoke to him; should she choose to confront him again over her half-crazed hypothesis as to his identity, past and connection to Severus Snape, she would do so in a calm and composed manner.

The time to test her resolve came on Monday. The weekend had strengthened her resolution to practice calmness whenever conversing with her Chambers' pupil. However, to her astonishment, he did not arrive. Afraid that he was deliberately avoiding her, she casually asked Summerby whether Perseuss had come in. "I need him run down to Andrew Marvell's Chambers on an errand."

Summerby wiggled his eyebrows suggestively on hearing that. "He owled in sick. I will run the errand for you."

When informed that he was absent, Hermione shook her head without any outward display of emotion. "That will not be necessary. I will do it personally. I need you to find me a copy of the 1976 or 1977 Hogwarts Yearbook by this week if possible."

"Of course, Miss. It will be a pleasure to be of service to you, Miss," agreed Summerby in his most affectedly unctuous voice. "Will that be all, Miss?"

"Your oiliness is most refreshing this morning. Don't use it on the others if you don't want them to slip and fall. By the way, where is von Bastiae's personal file?"

"Here it is, Miss," he replied, handing her the topmost folder lying atop a stack of briefs and files on his desk.

Without another word, Hermione briskly stepped outside and Apparated to Canary Wharf. She did not why she did so, nor did she seek to question herself. She only knew she had to speak to him. Of course, she realised this went against her resolution of stirring up trouble with Perseuss, but she felt compelled to speak to him. Despite this latent desire to sound things out with the wizard, Hermione hesitated on finding herself at the small semi-reputable street where Perseuss lived. From the address listed on the file, she knew perfectly well which flat he lived in. However, for some unknown reason, fear bit into her as her hand poised itself over the door knocker. She had no conception as to what she would say, or how she would be received. He may not wish to speak her, or he may be really be ill though she doubted it.

She exhaled slowly, gripping the knocker tightly in a bid to gather her wits and courage about her. Upon rationalising that it would be much more uncomfortable if she left things unspoken, she opted to go ahead and tell him all and the consequences be damned. With this in mind, she firmly rapped on the door.

A smirk at half cock greeted her as the studiously bored wizard opened the door a crack.

"I have been expecting you."

"We need to talk," she began without preamble.

"Indeed, we do."

"No cutting remark today? No demands for apologies?" she questioned, brushing past him and squeezing her way into the living room.

"No," he said simply with an enigmatic curling of the lips as he leaned on the door. "I know why you're here."

"Do you now?" She raised a brow in challenge.

"Yes." He proceeded to roll up the sleeve of his left arm. "This confirmed it for you, didn't it?"

"Whatever do you mean?" She smiled, tightly folding her arms before her.

"Do not play the innocent, Miss Granger. It doesn't suit you," he purred with the slight undertone of a menacing hiss. "Several times since my arrival at Chambers, you have asked me most pointed questions as to how I know the things I do pertaining to you. I have repeatedly informed you of my ignorance. Undoubtedly, you entertained some doubts as to my claims, and rightly so. From the very first moment I saw you outside that broken down excuse of a second hand bookstore, I felt a certain affinity for you. I dare say you felt it through – that jolt in the soul and mind. I have always known the things I do about you because they came to me, like a vision would, into my head. As incidents of this nature have never happened to me while in Bavaria or Wittenberg, I dismissed it as a recessive gene that belatedly sought to bestow with the gift of the Seers. As I do not have a high opinion of Seers and anything to do with prophecies, I dismissed that too. More so since I could only see things pertaining to you. Then there were these confounded dreams of death where you were trying to save me. In most of these dreams, I would give you my memories before expiring. From the look on your face, I surmise you must have similar encounters while asleep."

She shot him a look of supreme look of impatience. "Are you going to tell me something that I do not already know? Tell me why it is that you think you know the things you know about me."

"When I saw the photographs, it more or less became clearer to me," he said, thumping a hand on the door before sliding slowly to the ground. "Surely, you must have suspected..."

"Well, I am waiting for you to confirm it." Hermione surprising herself with the calm she managed to exude just from twisting the edges of her skirt. "Do not expect to say anything until you have confirmed it, Perseuss – or should I say – Professor Snape."

His lips twitched almost imperceptibly. "The thing is..."

Hermione stretched out a hand to stop him from saying anything further and looked up coldly at him. "There it is."

"What?" snarled wizard curiously.

"Did you have to put it like that? 'The thing is' – those three words. Then a pause, then bad news. That's how it always goes whenever someone says 'the thing is' in my experience," she stated knowledgeably.

"Well, Miss Know-it-all, you might as well be claiming you know for certain why things are the way they are. But the truth is – neither of us knows enough to claim certain things as facts," he snapped, tracing his lower lip with an index finger in thought. "The thing is, I do not know for certain whether I am indeed Severus Snape. I have vague memories of walking through stone corridors of a castle, sneering quietly at idiot students. I have vague recollections of assisting a bushy haired student when she began gasping for breath in the school gardens from eating some confection one of the girls had given her and starting turning blue from an allergy. The nurse was cross because she was out of lacewing anti-allergen. How was I to know I would equate that chit with you?"

"Because," she said simply. "I am that chit. It was a cockroach cluster – the special Easter edition sweets."

"It contained extract of cockles." He wrinkled his nose to denote his opinion of the bonbon.

"What about the floo password to my office at Chambers? How did you know that?" she pursued, visibly intrigued.

"How?" He tilted his head to the side and laughed bitterly at himself. "It is simple – the combination of your O.W.L. results interspersed with the Muggle numerical grade equivalent divided by the Arithmantic constant of 9. I know your O.W.L. grades because I helped tabulate them against the curve, and the 'O' level equivalents are easy to fit in behind them, and I did take Arithmancy lessons. As for the spell appended to it, you used a type of the protective ward that was used on educational buildings the world over. It is all so obvious that no one would think of it. Very ingenious, Miss Granger."

"Then how can you say you don't know if you're Severus Snape?" asked Hermione, steepling her fingers in thought.

"Because I have a theory that I am an aberration. I may just be a repository of this Severus Snape's memories and thoughts that materalised on his death. It just suddenly occurred to me when I saw his photograph," he answered, sweeping his hair back irritably. "Maybe I am not supposed to exist."

"What happened that night when you were supposed to have died?" she questioned, still unwilling to believe that she had uncovered the truth. "Why are you so physically different from what you were when you died? How did you escape? Did you Apparate? Did you use a portkey?"

"I don't know," he cried, lacing his fingers together. "I can only remember snatches of things. I have come... to the point..." He began sputtering and coughing as though something was impeding him from breathing. "The vials... red and silver..." he managed to gurgle in between breaths as he held on to his throat with one hand and gestured to the writing desk in the corner.

Though momentarily affrighted by the sight, Hermione recovered enough to hasten to the desk to locate the requested vials. The way the events unfounded before her, allowing her to take in every subtle nuance startled and fascinated her. She wasn't even sure if she was reliving a memory or dreaming. She had seen people choke before and this was not a case of choking. The area around his throat had become bloody. It looked like he was trying to staunch the blood from his neck. It looked like her night terrors. She soon found what she was looking next to a stack of Potions books. Quickly downing the silver liquid, then the red one down his throat, she watched in fascinated horror as the area around the throat bubbled and closed over layer by layer – first the blood vessels, then the muscles, then the skin. As soon as that procedure completed itself, she noted that he looked somewhat younger, if more worn from the ordeal. When he greedily swallowed a glass of water and indicated he was ready to speak again, she asked, "What was that?"

"Water," he stated matter-of-factly with a certain flash of impatience in his eyes. "You want some? The tap's over there."

"No, no!" She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "What sort of a curse is that?"

He eyed her impatiently but was too tired to argue with her. "Some snake or the other bit me when I was in Bavaria, my adopted father used to tell me the snake was originally a cobra that had been altered by a wizard. Such snake venom has no counter in either Muggle science or Magic, so one has to cope it with it like any chronic ailment. I only have myself to blame for provoking the creature."

"That's not it," she sighed, shaking her head firmly. "I am convinced you are Severus Snape and here's why. Twenty-two years ago, you were supposedly killed by Voldemort's snake, whose venom was pure dark prima materia. Dark prima materia has no known counter. The only way to go about it is to reverse time. In my research, undertaken to determine the cause of these nightmares we seem to share, I have discovered that you had used Sopophorous Beans stewed in Knotwood juice. The Sopophorous Beans would have slowed down the metabolic breakdown of poisons in the body, and the Knotwood juice had emetic properties. Those two ingredients would be insufficient to aid the body's recovery. Since the dark prima materia from the venom cannot be purged, one would have to reverse time. The only way to do so is to include time turner sand in the potion. However, time turner sand can only be dissolved in the highly corrosive waters of Lethe. The waters of Lethe would have erased your memories. That was one reason why you were so keen to give them to Harry Potter at the time."

She licked her lips and continued, "Now, because you did not want to lose all your memories – and it is obvious to me that you didn't – a few drops of water from the river Mnemosyne were added to serve the purpose of mitigating the corrosive effect of Lethe that would have wiped you clean of every memory and eaten away your innards as well. That was why you were fumbling in your pockets throughout your attempt to give some of your memories to someone. After that, you must have swallowed the elixir of life and portkeyed away to Germany as per your arrangement with Dumbledore. That was why we could not find your body." Catching the frown on his face, she chose to add as an afterthought, "And another thing – we all thought at the time, you wanted to give Harry your memories. In the dreams however, you insisted they were for me. There is a logical explanation to this. You knew as well as I did that Harry would not have bothered to uncover the truth as to what happened to you following your supposed death. However, I would have investigated the matter, and I have."

"If that were indeed the case, why didn't my adoptive father tell me?" he challenged.

"Was he a descendant of the cadet branch of the Merovingian wizarding family of Alamannia?"

"Yes, but I don't see how..."

"It has everything to do with it." She nodded to herself in satisfaction. "It makes sense that memories of your past elude you because you transmitted them to Harry. After all, it was either (A) lose your memories, or (B) die miserably on the spot. Everything that happened keeps in line with the theory as to how each ingredient would have worked in your so-called counter-potion to the snake's dark prima materia venom. You waited for all of us to disappear back to Hogwarts, then you sloshed some water of Lethe over your Dark Mark – that mark on your left forearm was formerly a tattoo of a kind with a snake wiggling out of a skull. You must have wanted it removed, so you corroded it with the waters of Lethe, which must have acted like an acid base reaction. Whatever happened, it corroded the mark. Hence, its present appearance as a hypertropic scar. Satisfied that you could no longer be traced by any of Voldemort's minions should he actually win the war, you then ingested the counter-potion."

"Yes, but it still doesn't add up," he argued in a low hiss, crossing his legs and tapping a finger on his lips. "The ingredients of the counter-potion you listed would only starve off the effects of the poisonous dark prima materia, and even then, its effects are not indefinite. It will still kill me one of these days."

"I was getting to that!" She threw up her hands in exasperation at his audacity to interrupt her train of thought. "It will kill you one of these days unless one of two things happen – you find a suitable and willing substitute to die from the dark prima materia or you somehow devise a cure for it. Professor Dumbledore gave you a cupboard full of the elixir of life – the red liquid you just downed. It would buy you time, and youth. It has already done so. The time turner sand would have already reversed the effects of the venomous bite by turning time back to before you were bitten. But in order to fool your body to keep functioning in spite of the dark prima materia in your system, you would have to be younger than the age at which you sustained the bite. That is why you look positively glowing and in your twenties even though you are nineteen years my senior. But it is just as well because Professor Dumbledore wanted you to lead the life you wanted to live if you could have a chance to do it all over again."

"And Bavaria? How did I land up there in your grand schema of things?" he demanded to know, tapping his foot impatiently on the ground.

"My guess is that you used too much time turner sand, and that was how time was turned back for you. You were 'translated' – to use the Shakespearean term, as it were into a boy again. It is possible; there are some documents where early 14th century draughts for extending lifespans used time turner sand and the consumers managed to relive much of their lives over again," she patiently explained, hoping that she was not wasting her effort in convincing him of something for which she had no concrete evidence. "I reviewed your letters with Dumbledore and a memory recording where it was explicitly stated he had made arrangements for you to stay with his distant cousins in Alamannia whom he referred to as the Merovingians. You did not take their surname even though they adopted you, did you?"

"They told me something of mine had the name 'Perseuss von Bastiae' printed on it, and that it had been destroyed in a fire," he answered thoughtfully as he took in every word his companion uttered.

"You know," said Hermione suddenly as if a thought had just popped into her head. "It is an anagram for Severus Tobias Snape."

"Coincidence, pure coincidence!" His voice indicated that he was still unconvinced. This neither discouraged nor put out Hermione who had always known Severus Snape to be a bit of a sceptic. "Even if such far-fetched arrangements were made how did I come to be in Germany? You don't expect me to have Apparated there after drinking two vials of strange potions which would have erased my memory and reduced me to the state of a child."

"Alas, it is my fate to constantly have my genius doubted," lamented she in a false sigh. "Recall I never once said I was certain of the exact sequence of the events following your so-called death. However, I believe you had been transported to wherever it was that the Merovingians lived, while there, or while being transported, you took both potions."

"And how did I end up in Germany?"

She rolled her eyes at his impatience. "The instrument of choice was an unlisted portkey. In Dumbledore's memory recording, the portkey was wrapped in Egyptian cheesecloth, which meant it was most likely some kind of a crux ansata, which if I remember my ancient Egyptian, the word could either mean 'mirror' or 'life'. But in wizarding terms, it means..."

His eyes, which were previously shaded and narrowed at her in uncertain speculation at her sanity now widened. "The mirror of life," he burst out, and in so doing, Hermione was much taken aback. She could see it in his face that his earlier disbelief had been replaced with astonishment.

"Very apt for you, I must say," commented Hermione agreeably. "Please feel free to astonish me by informing me you have such an object in your possession."

He flashed her a defensive look, which she took to be his tacit acknowledgement of the fact.

"Well then, I put it to the court that there is clear evidence that this is unequivocal proof of your true identity," she declared in her Oxford debating voice with a cheeky self-righteous grin.

"I remember being with annoyed you for your blasted over-enthusiasm as much as I hated a bespectacled boy's ability to inspire blind trust from his contemporaries, and your husband's arrant presumption and cupidity," he muttered sotto voce behind clenched teeth.

"Live with it. I am still your Head of Chambers, and you are my pupil!" she snapped, rising from her seat.

Deciding not to dignify her with an answer, he settled for looking up imploringly at his ceiling and twitching his lips into a smirk of dissatisfaction.

"Speaking of which," continued Hermione, ignoring the remarkable elasticity of his facial expression. "As your pupil-mistress, I would like you to request that you 'officially' loan me the benefit of your non-British presence in the IWCJ Tajik case. It would be easier for us to think of a way to restore you to what you were sans the attendant anxiety of dark venomous prima materia eating at your soul and body, dependency on the elixir of life and whatnot."

"You do realise," he cautioned with a frown, "I still do not completely believe you."

"That is regrettable but understandable," she acknowledged graciously.

"I will attempt to get hold of my adoptive parents tonight either by owl or through the secure floo at the office to seek confirmation for the facts you were so kind as to share. In the meantime, there is no need for you to put yourself out over my matter. I have lived with this 'ailment' for a long time."

"Until it kills you, of course," she pointed out brusquely. "I will devise some method of alleviating your suffering. I will not have the dream repeat itself in reality."

"You do realise, Miss Granger." He looked up, his eyes glinting strangely with some kind of emotion Hermione could not place. "There may not be any effective treatment against the prima materia."

"I know." She met his grim expression with a fierce look of determination.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he mumbled.

"That's the beauty of it," she said, making her way out of his flat. "I'm improvising as we go along, and with such an inscrutable look on my face, no one but you will know of the desperate calculations that go on behind the scenes."

A low rumble of laughter came forth from him, surprising her with the pleasant sound. "You're almost as impossible as that ridiculous old man with the long unkempt beard, when he requested oh-so-politely that I be the one to kill him instead of that skinny blond boy."

"Am I?" She turned around with a backwards glance and half smile at him. "That old man was Albus Dumbledore, and the young blond is Draco Malfoy. Well, rest and think on it for a bit, I shall expect you back at Chambers tomorrow. And fear not, I will tell no one."

FOOTNOTES:

Legal references are to British Law. American readers, please bear with me. My beta also made the suggestion that readers unaccustomed to the legal jargon herein pretend you are watching "Rumpole of Old Bailey" or "Sherlock Holmes".

Silk is British legal slang for King's/Queen's Counsel because the gown for the KC/QC is made of silk.

Chambers – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

Head of Chambers – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

'Employed' barrister – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

Barrister – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

Solicitor – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 1.

'Brief' or 'Briefs' – for definition and explanation, c/f footnotes in Chapter 3.

Crux ansata is the Latin term for Ankh, literally meaning 'cross with a handle'.

Ankh was the Egyptian hieroglyphic character that originally stood for the Egyptian word for 'mirror' or 'image', but gradually became used to represent the word 'life'. Egyptian Deities are often portrayed carrying it by its loop, or bearing one in each hand, arms crossed over their chest. It is also known as the Egyptian Cross or the key of life. The ankh appears frequently in Egyptian tomb paintings and other art, often at the fingertips of a god/goddess in images that represent the deities of the afterlife conferring the gift of life on the dead person's mummy; this is thought to symbolize the act of conception. Additionally, an ankh was often carried by Egyptians as an amulet, either alone, or in connection with two other hieroglyphs that mean 'strength' and 'health'. Mirrors of beaten metal were also often made in the shape of an ankh, either for decorative reasons or to symbolize a perceived view into another world.

Prima Materia or Materia Prima is the primitive formless base of all matter, according to Aristotle and the Alchemists, given particular manifestation through the influence of forms. According to the latter, lead could be turned to gold by reducing it to prima materia and imposing the form of gold on it. In the broadest terms the concept of the prima materia states that all particular substances are formed out of one and the same original substance. Considered in this way it becomes apparent that, in one form or another, this is a universal concept, possibly of an archetypal nature. The most prevalent notion of the prima materia to be found in modern thought is the atomistic theory which we inherited from the ancient Greeks. In this conception all material structures are composed of tiny building blocks of indestructible 'substance'. This substance is considered to be pure matter, and in an entirely materialistic paradigm this equates naturally to the concept of the prima materia.

'O' Levels or Ordinary Level was a General Certificate of Education qualification in the UK. It is still used in many Commonwealth countries. It is a level lower than the GCE A levels, which are still available in Further Education colleges. It was introduced in the 1950s alongside the 'A' level as a reform of the British education system at the time. The OWL in the HP-verse correspond to the 'O' level and the NEWTs in the HP-verse correspond to the 'A' levels. In 1988, it was revamped and came to be known in the UK as the GCSE. Since Severus is a product of the 1960s-1970s, he still calls it by the old name of 'O' level rather than GCSE. 'O' level grades from highest to lowest are: A1, A2, B3, B4, C5, C6, D7, E8, F9. Under this scheme, A1-C6 are passes, D7 is a marginal pass, E8-F9 are failures.

My beta alerted me to the fact that my use of "Enquire" as opposed to "Inquiry" may throw some readers off. Just bear this in mind –

"Inquiry" is to investigate something. Example: The auditors launched an inquiry into the state of the company's financial situation.

"Enquire" is to ask (a question). Example: May I enquire whether this is recycled paper?

Readers unclear as to all the talk about Lethe, time turner sand etc, please refer to the British Library chapter (either ch 5 or 6) where Hermione reviews the Dumbledore-Snape correspondence and views Dumbledore's memory, and ruminations about the whole business. She also ruminates about the business in the chapter subsequent to that.